Twinvy
by Chloe Veverka
Summary: Twinvy is having envy directed at one's twin brother. This can be offset by giggly girls constantly mistaking you for the wrong twin. Or it can be caused by liking someone you really shouldn't like. Yule Balls don't make things any easier. Set during GoF


Disclaimer: _HP _and all related characters do not belong to me.

A/N: I'm a drabble kind of writer, normally focusing on Angelina & Fred, so I decided to try my hand at writing from George's POV. It felt a little weird, but hopefully this turned out pretty well considering it was something written while procrastinating homework yesterday.

Twinvy

It was the start of a not-so-typical morning beneath the ancient rooftops of our beloved Hogwarts. I was en route to get my day started, traversing the hallways on my own without twin in tow. Contrary to popular belief, Fred and I don't go _everywhere _together. We do lead occasionally separate lives…occasionally…

I knew my hair was a livid mess, but I have a really bad habit of ruffling it when I'm tired or frustrated. Fred tends to do it as well. What I also forget is that, for some bloody reason, girls seem to love this nervous tick of mine and see it as reason to stalk me. So as I tried to rub the sleep out of my eyes, scratching my already bed-fought hair, I cringed when I heard a soft chorus of squeals break the otherwise normal white noise of the hallway. I didn't even bother to search out the source of the sound, merely raised my hand in a half-assed "Morning" wave. The chorus reprised its notes. Hallelujah it was not.

"Good morning, _Fred_!" a Ravenclaw girl cooed in my direction as I turned the corner, her small pack of female friends batting their lashes at me. I grunted in acknowledgment; it's too early in the morning to deal with this twinvy. At least with a muffin or bagel stuffed in my mouth, I'd have an excuse to not have to speak to any of these girls.

Twinvy is a composition of envy delegated from having a twin brother whose…dare I say "fresh" personality oftentimes outshines one's own…dare I say "maturity"? While I've gotten used to being mistaken for my mirror image, it always feels like a little bit of me gets chipped away when I hear his name thrown in my direction.

"Mornin' Fred!" some blonde lass giggled behind her hand. I did my best smarmy smirk impression of my brother, which said girl was daft enough to accept as sincere. Silly twit.

As I passed through one of the more narrow archways on the Gryffindor side of the school, who should barely bump into me than one Angelina Johnson, whose nose was too busy buried inside a notebook (of what looked like Quidditch plays) to recognize our crash-course alignment. Glancing up as I gently took her elbows in my hands, redirecting her from running into me, "Sorry George," passed through her lips with a quick apologetic grin.

"Never you mind," I threw back with a sincere smile. Even when the entire school still failed to recognize me for me, I can always depend on Angelina to know me for me.

*~*

What I had failed to consider earlier today was the twitch of anxiety emanating off of Angelina from our little morning run-in. It isn't uncommon to catch Angelina in a Quidditch daze; she's just as obsessed with the sport as many of us are. But she normally isn't that…off-point. Likewise, the girls around here are normally flirty and annoying intrusive (especially when I have the misfortune of being mistaken for Fred, whose fan club is much more aggressive than my own), but they'd been particularly active today. I suppose today's particularly hormone-driven atmosphere is due, in most part, to tonight's festivities. The Yule Ball. Everyone's loony about it. That isn't to say that I'm not excited. Because I am, of course. Ignoring what must be lasses trying to win some attention on the dance floor, I'd say that tonight will be a blast with the usual gang. Everyone's got their dates, everything's been planned. It'll be a grand time.

Having parted ways with the crew at lunch, my journey towards my room was obstructed, once again, by one Angelina Johnson. This time, she was without Quidditch book, but looking just as latently flustered as before.

"Ange?" I greeted inquisitively.

"Hey George," she replied. I automatically smiled. The sound of my name accurately coming from her lips turns me into one of Pavlov's dogs; it's like hearing the sweet chime of that blasted bell indicating that a treat's coming.

"You look a little…well…" _how to say…_ "unhinged."

"Really? That obvious?"

I shrugged. "What's wrong?"

She bit her lip hesitantly. "You'll think it girly of me."

"You? Girly? Never, Ange." I did my best to look shocked, but the acting moment was lost when her deadpanned stare make me laugh. "Sorry. I hang out with some surly company, you know. Enlighten me."

"I'm rethinking my dress tonight."

"Your dress?"

"Yeah. I've seen some of the girls pulling theirs out, getting ready to prep for tonight."

"What? The ball isn't for another couple of hours!"

She rolled her eyes. "I forget sometimes that you come from a house of mostly men. Don't you realize that the Book of Female resolutely states that it takes at least five hours of prep time before big fancy dances like this one for a girl to feel no more than 50% pretty?"

I held my chin in my hand, attempting to look studious. "Really? That is highly bizarre."

"Mindboggling, I know. And to think we do it all so you boys can look at us once and say, "Hey, your hair's poofy. Let's see how much static cling we can conduct!" I felt my eyebrow rise at that. She sighed. "Right. Okay. Maybe more like, 'Ug ug, you woman, you pretty, let's dance.'"

I nodded. "Much more likely." Thankfully, that coaxed a giggle out of her. "So then, what's wrong with your dress?"

She sighed, losing her carefree attitude. "It seems so much more…boring compared to everyone else's. No frills. No crazy slutty dips or lace or things that boys like. It's just…dark and simple and…boring."

I leaned down, placing a surprisingly steady hand on her elbow. "Sounds elegant and more up your alley than any hussy slutty lacey sparkly piece of fabric that will probably be everyone else's dress. Sounds perfect for you." Clearing my throat, I decided it less suspicious of my own actions to add, "I'm sure Fred will find you gorgeous no matter what you wear."

She half-grinned at that. "'Gorgeous'? You think so?"

For just a moment, I felt my eyes land on her lips in a way that was very volatile to my whole project of ignoring what I've slowly been recognizing as…something…for her. So I shrugged. "Or you'll look like a troll. Either way, we're going to have fun tonight. I guarantee it."

She laughed, hitting me gently in the shoulder. "Gee, thanks George," she said while heading back towards the girls' dormitory.

"Never you mind," I added, heading towards the guys'.

*~*

She didn't need five hours.

Nor should she even question whether she's anything less than 150% pretty.

Pretty doesn't even do her justice.

Standing at the bottom of the staircase leading into the Great Hall where the action would shortly get underway, everyone was waiting to meet up with their dates and/or groups. Fred, Lee, and myself were camped out for the girls to finally find us, and it hadn't taken too long for us to realize that the staircase was the GRAND ENTRANCE station that allowed the female part of the species to showcase their new looks.

When _she_ came into view, I am ashamed to admit that I didn't realize that the other girls, let alone my own date, were walking beside her down the marble. I was also so lost in my fantasy-turned-reality haze that I didn't even pretend to watch myself around Fred as I've grown accustomed. Instead, my eyes could not be restrained from trailing up her body as she descended. Her feet peeped out with each step, showing off her graceful balance of walking in far-from-normal heels. From there, a pair of long legs swam seductively within a pool of black fabric; although completely concealed, the silky material did wonders for the imagination. My eyes ran their invisible touch slowly along her curvy hips up to…well, to remain a gentleman, I will simply jump ahead to say how much I wanted to run my fingers through the classy soft cascade of black hair she had running over one shoulder. Thankfully, she was too busy talking to the others to realize how myself, and several other males in the vicinity, were realizing just how lucky my brother was.

When the ladies finally made it to us, I smiled and complimented my date (honestly, she looked very pretty herself). And I was completely aware of Fred's compliments to the stunning witch at his side. But I didn't let one Angelina Johnson pass by me without whispering into her ear, "I stand by 'gorgeous.'"

The unabashed smile and blush she gave me was worth every bit of Fred's glare.

*~*

As I sat at our table, my attention briefly drawn to a slightly tipsy Lee Jordan to my left in the midst of telling some Hufflepuff girl a blatant lie to impress her, one Angelina Johnson intentionally crashed into the table. Her hands bracing the edge, she panted heavily with a broad smile on her face. Her free-floating hair was an absolute mess from doing what anyone could barely account for as "dancing" with my brother, and there was a slight sheen of sweat on her brow.

"So, George Weasley!" she partially-panted, mostly shouted at me. The band was still blaring loudly, and it was a testament that I could even hear her let alone any thoughts in my own head.

"Yes, Angelina Johnson?" I shouted back.

"Wotcher say we hit the floor?" I must have looked incredulous because she laughed very frankly at me. "Come on, George. You've sat here long enough."

"Who says?"

"I do," she retorted with a different kind of confidence I'd never seen on her before. She took hold of one of my hands, leaning backward to put all of her body weight into pulling me out of my chair.

"Johnson!" I held onto her, not wanting her to fall.

When she realized I wasn't getting up, she gave up her former tactic and broached a new one. She bridged the distance between us, crouched down, and looked me dead in the eye. Dropping her aggressive act, she offered me her hand. "Dance with me," she said simply, that glimmer of a grin hitting me in the stomach with an unexpected bout of butterflies.

I hesitated, my instinct telling me to scout the area and see where Fred was, as though I needed approval to dance with his evening date. But I couldn't look away from her eyes. And then she squinted into a more determined stare. "I dare you," she added, giving me her signature version of the Weasley smirk.

I was hooked. Far from wanting her to realize just how much I hoped my palm wasn't noticeably sweaty, I rolled my eyes while taking her hand. "Now you've done it," I replied with my own smirk. Standing up, I pretended to straighten my robes as she waited, faux-impatiently, drawing her hands onto her hips. She must not realize just how…dangerously clingy that dress is on her.

"Ready yet?" she asked sarcastically.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On if you're ready to have the George Weasley Experience."

"I'm all a tingle," she said while rolling her eyes again, taking hold of my hand again, and pulling me towards the mosh-like sea of students. As sappy and cliché as it may sound (and as much as I wasn't expecting it), I felt the room's energy plummet into slow motion as Angelina pulled me closer to the dancing. Everyone's movements dulled and faded away into the background, and my awareness zoomed in onto the crackling electricity her hand was causing around mine. From there, my eyes wandered along her body, so distracting in that sensuous dress. I'm resolute that she had absolutely no idea how bloody amazing she looked. As though she read my mind, her head turned to flash me another smile. Instantly, all the pounding noise in the room dropped into what I felt was the tell-tale sound of my pounding heart. She _must _have felt that pulse through my sweaty twitchy palm. How could she not?

Finally, or perhaps unfortunately, she found a spot within the wall of sweaty, throbbing dancers and dropped my hand. Leaning forward to try and reach my ear, she shouted "Come on, George!" before letting loose. It was truly a sight; one-part awkward, one-part confident explosion of dance moves. Angelina Johnson was on a music frenzy, and I so wanted to be the guppy to her shark appetite. So I cut loose, let the beat catch me, and was tugged along for a crazy ride. Somehow, despite the extremely shrill sound of girl groupies screaming for the band, the thumping of the drums, and the strumming chaos of guitars blazing across the hall, Angelina's laughter as I spun her or did an extremely goofy and stupid dance move was the best music to my ears.

*~*

The music slowed down significantly, which is exactly when my pulse began racing even faster. I recognized this musical change. This was the aura of setting a romantic tone. This was the feeling of grade school awkwardness rushing into my face. This, my friends, was the intro to a slow dance. And I was still on the floor with one Angelina Johnson. I was far from prepared.

Angelina was catching her breath when she must have recognized the smooth guitar riffs coming in, for she looked up at me almost shyly while wiping sweat from her face. She seemed just as apprehensive as I felt, though I can't imagine why…

"Well?" she asked.

"Well…" I responded.

We stared at each other for a moment before simultaneously breaking into soft giggles and chuckles. I was already out there. She was already out there. According to the butterfly orchestra in my stomach and the goosebump choir on my arms, I obviously wanted to do this.

"Might as well, huh?" I asked, though I couldn't control the sudden husky quality that'd commandeered my voice. I offered her my hand as a gesture reminiscent of her earlier one. She looked from my eyes to my hand and, after a pause (and possibly a slow exhale?) she accepted my hand with a smile.

"Might as well," she answered, resting her other hand on my shoulder.

I can't really describe how quickly that song came and left. It lasted too long to calm my frenetic heart, but too short to let me fully enjoy the way her hair felt against my cheek, or the way her smell lingered up into my nose and traveled up my spine into my brain, hitting me in a way that too many butterbeers can often affect me. I don't remember the lyrics to the song. I don't remember who was dancing around us. All I remember is feeling the most calm and most nerve-wracked I'd felt in a long time. All accordingly caused by one Angelina Johnson. The moment I swear I felt her bury her nose in my robes was the moment I realized how seriously screwed I'd be for quite some time. Because the moment the song ended would be the moment I'd have to let go and feel this spell come crashing around me, disappearing into the air. And I didn't know if I really wanted that to happen. So I gently shifted my hands to rest on her hips, indulging in the sensation of having her in my arms. Surprisingly, she shifted her hands as well, wrapping her arms around my neck in a hug-like gesture that pulled her closer to me. Overwhelming Merlin, she felt…She smelled…

When the song finally did fizzle into a more upbeat rock jam, I begrudgingly stopped our slow sway. I felt her jar from her own sluggish movements, and I desperately wanted her to look up at me and show me that she was just as confused as I was about what I could only describe as magic happening between us. This was new and foreign territory, and I didn't want to be on enemy lines of…dare I say romance…on my own. Her eyes matched mine and finally, or perhaps unfortunately, she looked away just as quickly and retracted her hold on me.

"Finally, I know how George Weasley dances," she said with a light, airy quality to her voice.

"Verdict?" Single worded responses was the best I could do, still reveling in the aftermath of her alluring presence.

She nodded. "I think I could manage another go some time," she replied.

I smiled. "You're brave."

"You're modest."

"Among other things…sure." I stuffed my hands in my robes, watching her nervously look about the room. The closer we were getting to the moment of departure from each other, the more I could feel my normal confidence come back from its reprieve. Just needed to keep breathing.

"Well, save me a spot on that dance card of yours and we can make that happen. I'd better go find Fred, make sure he hasn't done anything to get kicked out of here just yet." Just as she walked past me, I felt her hand take hold of my elbow and spin me a little to match her eyes. "Catch you later, George," she told me with a bright smile and a new flush across her cheeks.

"See you, Ange," I breathed, my eyes glued to her frame as she disappeared into the crowd.

Yeah… I'm officially screwed.

*~*~*~*~

Please review and thanks for reading!


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